


How Exactly Should I Phrase It?

by 74days



Series: Meet-Cute AU's [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: First Time Blow Jobs, High School Crush, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 11:06:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2505551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/74days/pseuds/74days
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky is pretty sure the guy at his gym is the same guy he blew at a party when he was a teenager, but he's got no idea how to ask that question. His best friend is no help at all, and in the end, it's pretty easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Exactly Should I Phrase It?

“I’m pretty sure I sucked his cock once, and I don’t know how to bring it up.”

Natasha looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “Sorry, care to repeat that?”

“I said, I’m pretty sure I sucked his cock once and I don’t kno-”

She held up her hand to silence him. The older woman standing behind them looked somewhat scandalised, and Bucky remembered that talking in Russian whilst standing in a Russian deli was probably not the best idea. It worked just fine in the Starbucks next door, but they weren’t **_in_** the Starbucks next door, because Natasha wanted to pick up some pickled herring because she was home sick and possibly crazy. No one (not even former Russian ballet dancers) liked pickled herring. Bucky actually thought that moving to America again meant he’d never need to smell the **_unmistakable_** smell that was everywhere in the store. It reminded him of his grandparents.

“No one needs to know about your sex life.” She pointed out. “You’ve not been here long enough to **_have_** a sex life.” She pointed out. “You literally got here a month ago, you can’t have forgotten already.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I mean **_before_** , before I was sent away to live in the frozen motherland you seem desperate to return to.”

His best friend (his only friend, really) gave him a look colder than the Russian winters he never wanted to see again, and turned her back on him. “Some of us had no choice about leaving.”

“Some of us left for a very prestigious job in the most sought after school in the world,” He reminded her. “Don’t make out like you were dragged kicking and screaming from your home in the middle of the night.” He paused. “You’ve got a kick like a mule. If you didn’t want to leave you’d have a trail of broken kneecaps behind you.”

“True.” She replied, still not turning around to face him. “I still don’t know why **_you’d_** leave though.”

“Because I might have Russian parents and Russian grandparents and grandparents, but my sister and I were born in Brooklyn and its home. **_Home_**.” He looked at her back, the oversized scarf and hat that obscured all of her pale skin and red hair. “You understand that, at least.”

“Yes.” She said, without turning. “Because I’m **_Russian_**.”

* * *

 

The thing was, Bucky had been 17 when his parents were killed in a car crash, and Becca was 10. He was too young to look after her on his own, still a kid himself – still used to his mom making his dinner and his dad teaching him to drive. His grandparents were their next of kin. They would take Becca, Bucky too – but they’d have to relocate to Samara.

Bucky had a choice, and he chose to be with his sister. He’d left his school and his friends and everything he’d ever known to go and live on the other side of the world. His parents had spoken almost exclusively English at home, so Bucky struggled with the language barrier at first, but soon picked it up. His grandmother insisted this was because his blood was Russian. He needed to re-take his last year at school, but managed to get an apprenticeship once he left school working for the shipyard.

Becca on the other hand, took to everything like a fish to water – her Russian blood must have been stronger than his, because she seemed perfectly happy with their new life. She was at SSAU now, becoming a fucking **_rocket scientist_** , so obviously she got all the brains in the Barnes genetics. He couldn’t be prouder.

He’d met Natasha on a night out, she’d been a dance major and he was a bit of rough at the docks and their relationship had been fast and hard and over almost as soon as it started. They remained friends though, because she liked his American ways, and he liked her sense of humour (hidden under several layers of fuck-off and eat-shit) and when she left to teach at Julliard, he wrote her emails once a week. When he told her that the company he worked for was sending him to New York, she told him that she would let him crash at hers till he found a place – and that had been a month ago.

* * *

 

The guy who worked out at the gym Bucky used was **_American_**. Bucky knew he wasn’t just a regular American – he was pretty sure if you cut this dude in half he’d bleed red, white and blue. His heart was probably shaped like the head of a Bald Eagle. He probably sang the national anthem in the shower. His dick would taste like apple pie.

Bucky was **_sure_** he’d sucked him off once.

* * *

 

When Bucky was 15 years old, he fell in love with a skinny little asthmatic dork that sat in the back of class and drew pictures in the margins of his workbooks. Bucky had just been accepted to warm the bench on the football team, popular, loud, but (he hoped) a good guy. The skinny asthmatic dork had started Bucky’s school after being extensively home-taught. Everyone knew he was gay, because apparently he had no idea what high school was like and just **_told_** people. Bucky kind of admired that – admired the guts it took.

A skinny, short, sickly gay dude was the last person **_anyone_** wanted to hang out with at high school. Steven Rogers, blond pale and weird, was relegated to the bottom of the social ladder. He got bullied until it turned out he was also a fucking little shit who’d fight back, teeth, fists, bony knees and sharp elbows, and then he was just ignored. He wasn’t worth the time.

And James ‘Bucky’ Barnes fucking adored him.

From afar.

* * *

 

He spent his free periods in the library watching Steven study. His grades improved because he was terrified someone would catch him mooning over the guy, so he actually did a lot of work.

He found some free gay porn and looked at the guys on the websites and looked at himself in the mirror and spent his mornings before breakfast doing ab crunches and push-ups because he still had the slightly soft pudge of a young boy and what he needed for Steven to want him was a sixpack and nice guns. His girlfriends appreciated it, but Steven never seemed to notice that Bucky was getting pretty ripped.

He even tried his hand at drawing, so he’d have something to talk to Steven about, but he sucked at that, although his workshop sketches got better.

He made sure no one picked on younger kids when Bucky was around. He stopped fights and stood up for the little guys and read books about women’s rights and oppression and never managed to open his mouth to start a conversation.

* * *

 

Bucky got drunk, so drunk, the day before he was due to leave to go stay with his grandparents. They’d told him to go out with his friends, a good-bye party that turned out to be an open house kegger. The weak beer flowed and Bucky drank as much as he could because he was leaving and his parents were dead, and everything in his life sucked. His girlfriend had broken up with him the day before because he was leaving and why should she stay with him when he lived on the other side of the world? He was 17 years old; they’d only been dating for a month.

He didn’t know why Steven Rogers had been at that party, because no one would have invited him. No one even **_liked_** him.

Bucky fucking adored him.

From afar.

* * *

 

He’d been drunk, but was edging closer to sober than he would have liked, when Steve seemed to appear from nowhere, finding Bucky tucked neatly in the fire escape, clutching his red solo cup of pale beer.

“Can I get past you?” He’d asked, looking up through the open window to where Bucky was sitting. “I need to get to the roof for some air.”

Bucky had nodded, and followed him up, shrugging at the look Steven had thrown at him. “Can’t go home drunk.” He said, putting the plastic cup on the ledge of the room and shrugging. “Can’t let Becca see me drunk.”

It had been a drunk driver that hit the car his parents had been in. Becca had **_issues_** about drinking. He’d also not wanted to make a fucking idiot of himself in front of his 2 year crush, so he tried to look cool. He was kinda thrilled Steven was there though, because he’d picked the best shirt he had, and rolled the sleeves a little so his arms looked great, and his jeans were faded and hung just right on his hips so that when he stretched, the tight skin of his stomach was shown. He’d worked his ass of for his abs, flexing in his bedroom mirror like the guys in the porn did. Steven – who Bucky assumed was a twink, a small guy like him – would have to think Bucky’s muscles were hot. If girls did, guys must. “Last night here.” He told Steven, stretching and flexing a little. Breathing in a bit.

If Steve noticed, he didn’t let on. His eyes were fixed on Bucky’s shoes. “I heard.” He said. “Russia?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, abandoning his stretch. Pointless if Steven wasn’t gonna notice. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“Cold, I’d guess.” Steven said, eyes flicking up to Bucky’s just for a second before dropping back to his shoes. His eyes (Bucky knew) were blue. He didn’t think blue eyes could be warm, but Steven’s were.

Bucky laughed. It wasn’t funny, but he was kinda drunk and Steven was kinda right there, but his laughter made Steven smile a little and hold out his hand. “I’m Steven. Steve.” He said, and Bucky stared at his hand blankly. “We have Lit and History together.” He said, hand still extended. Then Bucky realised. Steven Rogers was introducing himself. Like Bucky didn’t know who he was.

“I know.” He said, carefully. “You’re Steven Rogers. You draw.” He added, because it was the only non-stalkerish thing he could think of saying. “I’m Bucky.”

“I know.” Steven replied, dropping his hand. “Everyone knows.”

“Yeah, well, everyone knows you too.” He said, grinning. “You gave Rumlow two black eyes and nearly bit his finger off.”

Steve blushed and looked at his feet. “He deserved it.” He said. “I know he’s your friend but he-”

“Hell, Brock aint no friend of mine.” Bucky shot back. “He’s a total asshole. I don’t hang out with guys like that.” It was important Steven knew Bucky didn’t hang out with guys who pick on people for laughs. “He’s a sexist homophobe. I’m not like that. I’m **_not_**.” He paused. “I kicked his ass for calling Chrissy a slut.” Slut-shaming, he knew, was one of the many things Steven got riled up about in class.

“I remember.” Steven grinned, and Bucky wanted to remember him always grinning like that. “I thought that was pretty cool.”

Bucky preened. He’d only done it because Brock was an asshole and Chrissy looked fucking gutted, he’d not even done it so Steven would find out, which was why he’d taken to defending others.

“Yeah, well, it’s not fair that guys can sleep with whoever they like, but girls gotta be virgins. It’s their choice and it’s not for assholes like Brock Rumlow to say shit about it.”

Steve’s eyes were fixed on him, a smile on his face like the fucking sun was coming up, and Bucky gave him the best smirk he could. The smirk that worked on girls. The smirk he’d practised in the mirror. The one that **_worked_**.

* * *

 

He kissed Steven Rogers on the roof of an apartment building, on the last night he’d spend in America. Steve wasn’t a great kisser, probably taken a little by surprise – but enthusiastic. Bucky crowded him against the wall and rubbed him through his jeans, a little shocked at the size of the dick under his palm because didn’t the twinks in the porn have small dicks? Wasn’t that why they took it? Steven was hard though, and Bucky wanted him, had thought about doing it a million times over the last 2 years, and he was gonna get that dick in his mouth if it was the last thing he did on American soil.

* * *

 

They guy at the gym wasn’t small. He wasn’t asthmatic. He certainly didn’t look like a dork, but Bucky was fucking **_certain_ ** he’d sucked him off. He was certain that the blond hair and blue eyes he still had the occasional masturbatory fantasy for were the same. He was so sure.

He just didn’t think that asking a guy 10 years after the fact was the best way to start a conversation.

* * *

 

“So, you’re loaded?” Clint asked him, in English because he’d been dating Natasha for 2 years and she rather pointedly told him if he ever butchered her language again she’d kick him in the balls so hard they’d burst. His Russian wasn’t too bad, but Natasha was a purist (and a bit of a bitch) so Clint spoke in English and tried to keep up with them when they slipped into Russian.

“I’m not loaded.” Bucky argued. “I’m just… not poor.” The apprenticeship at the docks turned into a job – a good job, and Bucky worked hard to work his way up the ladder. He was now a design consultant, and the money was good. The American side of the business needed him, and the Russian owners liked that Bucky spanned both cultures. He’d been living in America for two month when he got a promotion and a payrise, although it all felt a little surreal. Natasha called this his ‘Russian pragmatism’ and said it was normal. Bucky thought she just liked labelling emotions as being Russian and left her to it.

“Sweet.”

Clint had won Bronze at the Olympics in archery when he’d been younger. He was now paid to endorse bows and had a nice job at a country club teaching bored housewives to shoot things. They money was actually pretty good – although you could probably mistake him for a homeless guy when he wasn’t working. Bucky was sure Natasha liked him because he spent most of his days shooting things.

“You talk to the guy whose dick you sucked yet?” Natasha asked, and Bucky just glared.

* * *

 

The guy at the gym Bucky went to sometimes would look at him weird, like he was trying to place him. Bucky wanted to be cool, just walk up and smirk and say the right thing, but he just couldn’t work out the right combination of words in his head.

He knew a few things about him, he had a friend called ‘Sam’ who would call him and ream him about something when he’d be on the treadmill, because Bucky could make out the “Jesus, Sam, I told you I was just waiting for the right time,” and his personal favourite “Fuck you, flyboy, I’m not a coward.”

And Bucky would wear a white shirt just so he’d sweat through it and have the material cling to his skin. He liked to think that the guy (maybe Steven? He was so sure it was Steven) noticed. Other guys noticed. Other guys walked up to him and talked to him and a few even asked him out.

* * *

 

“Never seen you at my gym before.” A guy said one day, watching him over the free weights. Bucky’d been working on his arms, because Natasha told him that Clint had ‘superior guns’ and she expected him to improve before he wore a t-shirt again (Bucky loved her, he really did). He was tall and muscular with dark hair and a days’ worth of stubble. Not exactly cute, but good looking.

“Here most days.” Bucky grinned back, because he was pretty sure Blond-possibly-Steven was watching from where he was working on his glutes. His fantastic fucking glutes. Glutes Bucky wouldn’t mind getting to know better. “Haven’t seen you around before.” He shrugged, feeling the wet cotton cling to his skin.

“Not sure I’ll be hanging around much longer. Don’t like the type of people they let in.” The dude said, not at all subtly nodding his head in the direction of Blond-Hopefully-Steven.

“Oh?”

“Went to school with that asshole.” The guy said, flexing. “Little shit back then, bigger shit now.” He looked over his shoulder a sneered. “Not got some fucking cause to fight today, Rogers?”

The blond (And Bucky was right, he was Steven!) glared at them both. “Still early.” Was all he said, going back to his workout. He was scowling at the floor, and yeah, Bucky remembered that jaw, just on a much **_smaller_** guy. Fuck, Steven Rogers grew up **_right_**.

“The names Brock. Brock Rumlow.” He said, and looked somewhat offended when Bucky laughed in his face. He recovered quick though, and nodded to Steven. “That’s Steve Rogers,” He said, voice carrying. “He’s a fucking fag who can’t keep his face out of other peoples business.”

“Yeah, I remember.” Bucky said, grinning at Steve, who glared harder at the floor. “I sucked his dick at a party once.”

* * *

 

“I thought it was you, but then I thought… Russia.” Steve was saying, holding the water bottle to the side of his jaw. Brock had started the fight, but Bucky and Steve finished it fairly quickly. He’d gotten a few swings in first though. "My buddy Sam's been trying to get me to talk to you since I first mentioned you to him."

“Yeah, I’ve been wondering how to ask.” Bucky shrugged, “You’ve got no idea how hard it is to ask a guy if you blew him once 10 years ago.” He grinned. “I doubted you’d even remember.”

“I remember.” Steve told him, grinning. “You were my first.”

“Blow job?” Bucky laughed, “Shit, I’m sorry. I was probably terrible, I was so fucking nervous. I’d been watching you for the better part of two years, I had the worst crush on you.” Bucky admitted.

Steve looked like he’d been floored (for the second time that morning) and stared at him with huge blue eyes. “I was 90lbs soaking wet.” He said, “I was skinny and mouthy and-”

“Hot.” Bucky cut in. “Like, **_really_ ** hot. I used to watch you in the library.”

“No you didn’t.”

“Yeah, I did.” Bucky grinned, loving the play of expressions across Steve’s face. “I read fucking books on **_suffrage_ ** for you, man. I had it **_bad_**.”

* * *

 

“You weren’t just my first blow job.” Steve admitted, later, when they’d shared a mug of coffee at the diner over the street. “You were my first everything.”

“How do you feel about me being your last everything too?”

“I think I could live with that,” Steve grinned.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Just another little short one for you! Hope you like this one too!


End file.
